


Run With The Wolves, Shout It Out Loud

by oxymoronic



Series: TSN kinkmeme prompts [1]
Category: Social Network (2010)
Genre: Kink Meme, M/M, One Shot, Plot What Plot, Porn, Prompt Fic, Public Sex, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-24
Updated: 2012-02-24
Packaged: 2017-10-31 16:42:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/346265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oxymoronic/pseuds/oxymoronic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The venue’s packed, but people still keep coming.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Run With The Wolves, Shout It Out Loud

**Author's Note:**

> Originally at my LJ [here](http://oxymoronic.livejournal.com/93961.html#cutid1).
> 
> Written for [this](http://community.livejournal.com/tsn_kinkmeme/4426.html?thread=6906186#t6906186) prompt: "Mark/Eduardo, public lapfucking."
> 
>  **Quick disclaimer:** all persons referenced below are intended to represent the characters in _The Social Network_ (which I don't own anyway) and bear no relevance to those in real life who share the same names.

The venue’s packed, but people still keep coming. The crowd is seething, rippling in that bobble-headed way which tells of significant others sitting on their partner’s laps, best friends balancing on each other’s knees. The air is full of the quiet susurrus of their conversations; the speaker’s late.

Under him, Mark is quiet. Eduardo is quieter, even though the rattle of his breath through his nose sounds like a thunderstorm to his ears. He lets it clatter around his brain, uses it as a distraction against the tidal wave of shivers running through him.

“Bad idea,” he hears Mark breathe. “Such a bad idea.” Even through four layers of clothing, he can feel his jackrabbit heart, and he has to take a moment to bury the feel of it far away. Personally, however, he’s inclined to disagree.

The lights dim, and a steady stream of relieved applause permeates the air as the speaker comes on stage. Mark shifts a little – probably just getting comfortable, they are going to be here for a while – and Eduardo can’t help but whine a little, grateful for the smothering applause. He feels Mark’s fingers twitch on his hips, and even though it’s probably nothing more than reflex he likes to imagine it’s an admonishment, an instruction to keep quiet, and shivers nonetheless. He focuses on each heartbeat, every inhalation, the accompanying feeling of Mark’s chest steadily taking deep, certain breaths against his backs. He scowls, and, determined to alter this restraint, innocently rocks his hips. The resulting gasp has him grinning beatifically into the dark.

Chris shoots Mark a questioning look, which he hurriedly dispels by shaking his head. “S’cool,” he mutters. “Just winded me.”

“Am I too heavy for you?” Eduardo murmurs. He feels Mark’s fingers twitch on his hips again.

“I can take him for a bit, if you like,” Chris offers, and Eduardo has to smother a hysterical giggle.

“I’m good,” Mark mumbles; Eduardo shifts a little again. “Really,” he gasps, and this time Eduardo lets the chuckle loose. An angry shh comes anonymously from behind them, and Eduardo ducks his head by way of apology. He takes the opportunity to glance towards the speaker; it’s not like he can focus on anything he’s saying, but it pays in such situations to look like you’re paying attention. Mark goes ominously still beneath him. The longer Mark stays still, the easier it is to breathe like a normal person, and not like someone who’s sat in a crowded lecture theatre on his friend’s dick.

 _Oh fuck_ , he thinks, and it’s like he only just noticed, like his brain had switched everything off below his navel for his sanity’s sake – but now he’s painfully aware of _everything_ , the sweat in his hair and on his temples, the furious push of his blood through his veins, the way even the nerves under his fingernails are singing – he scrabbles for a hold on an arm rest and finds Mark’s leg instead, clutches to it like a lifeline and tries to still his hips which have, almost by their own accord, started to rock recklessly in the tiniest of motions against Mark’s, properly fucking him at last.

“Mark,” he whispers, tasting the hysteria lacing his voice, “Mark – _Mark_ – ”

“I know,” he breathes, “ _fuck_ , Wardo, _don’t stop_ – ”

He couldn’t, not even if every single eye in the auditorium swiveled and burned into him right that second, not even if the glare of the spotlight picked them out against the hundreds and his mother was standing in the aisle beside them. _How can they not know?_ he thinks, and clamps viciously down on a moan, though he can’t suppress a shudder as Mark’s thrust up hits true. _How can they not notice?_

He wants them to, he realizes, as Mark’s fingers start to trail their way from the nape of his spine to his navel, and tease the promise of heading further down below. He wants everyone to look around and see that he owns Mark Zuckerberg, and – _fuck_ , Mark’s fingers clench spasmodically on his hips, and he can tell his friend is close – who is he trying to kid? Mark Zuckerberg owns _him_.

Eduardo’s cell buzzes in his pocket, and the vibration so near to his crotch almost sends him over the edge. He fishes it out with shaking hands, all too aware of the barely-audible pants Mark is making behind him, and plugs in his pin, screen smeared by his sweaty fingers. It’s a message from an unknown number, and shivering uncertainly, he opens it.

_I can see you._

He just about has time to shove his fist in his mouth before he comes, screaming silently, his vision sparking white.

 

 

Chris and Dustin dump them on the way back to Kirkland to buy more beer, and they walk in slightly-awkward, slightly-satisfied silence. Mark’s lips twitch every once in a while, which in the world of Mark means he’s grinning like an idiot. They pause outside the dorms as Mark fishes around for his keys, and Eduardo shifts from one foot to the other uneasily, keen to get inside and get clean. “So, uh,” Mark says, flipping through the keys on his ring. “Aren’t you, um, worried? About that message you got?”

Eduardo raises an eyebrow. “A little. But I don’t really care if anyone knows.” Mark’s cheeks tingle pink, and he loses track of his place on the keyring. “Why, do you know them?”

“I bribed a freshman to send it to you before we sat down,” he mumbles, and pushes the key in the lock. Eduardo stares at him as they step inside, and decides it’s _really fucking creepy_ how Mark can just crawl inside his head.

They hold the door open for a pretty girl on her way out, who greets Mark with a surprising amount of friendliness. He wonders if they’re in a class together, or something. “Oh hey, Mark, you just got back from the talk?” she calls as Eduardo makes to shut the door.

“Yeah. Pretty boring, really.” Mark smiles awkwardly.

“Still, Sean Parker – that’s a hell of a lot cooler than most of the guys we get down here!” She looks across at Eduardo for the first time, and indiscreetly checks him out. “You’re Eduardo, right?”

“Yeah.” He shakes her hand, because it’s what his father taught him to do with pretty girls.

“I thought you did Business or something, how come you went? It’s not like he made any money!” She has a really annoying, trilled laugh, which she unleashes in full.

Eduardo smiles coolly and reaches for the handle. “Exactly. I gotta know who to avoid,” he replies, and shuts the door.


End file.
